<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Choke by Highsmith</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766363">Choke</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highsmith/pseuds/Highsmith'>Highsmith</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Character Study, Creampie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Frottage, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe and Nicky Are Not Soulmates, Kink Meme, M/M, Manhandling, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Trope Subversion/Inversion, True Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highsmith/pseuds/Highsmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yusuf and Nicolò aren't soulmates. It hardly matters.</p><blockquote>
  <p>By his side, his arm is itching where the stark script has marked him to varying degrees for almost the entirety of his life, the ink-like Mark fading in and then out with time. These days, he often forgets it has ever taken shape, that there's another person who perhaps still exists in this world who was created to perfectly embody... something. Perfection itself, perhaps. He doesn't much think about it.</p>
</blockquote>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>429</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Choke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5194.html?thread=1748298#cmt1748298">this</a> Kink Meme prompt. I love a good bit of trope subversion.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At the start, he never lost sleep over it. It didn't occur to him that he should.</p><p>It's only now, a little over half a century after his first death, that he blinks himself awake in complete darkness to the soft sounds of Nicolò's breathing deeply by his side, arm stretched across Yusuf's chest, leg thrown over his, head leaning on the undoubtedly uncomfortable roundness of his shoulder. So swiftly does he reach complete consciousness that he's a little dizzy with it, staring sightlessly at their little house's ceiling as he regains his faculties.</p><p>By his side, his arm is itching where the stark script has marked him to varying degrees for almost the entirety of his life, the ink-like Mark fading in and then out with time. These days, he often forgets it has ever taken shape, that there's another person who perhaps still exists in this world who was created to perfectly embody... something. Perfection itself, perhaps. He doesn't much think about it.</p><p>Except for how, now, he's woken in the depths of night thinking precisely about such a person. A vague silhouette even Yusuf's artist mind couldn't adequately describe or replicate on parchment.</p><p>They haven't worn tunics to bed in weeks, the nights mild if not warm, but he appears to have sweated through his sleep trousers, the thin linen clutching uncomfortably at his thighs and crotch now that he's so painfully aware of what his body is doing. Beneath Nicolò's arm his chest feels clammy, and his face is flushed. He's parched.</p><p>Attempting to extricate himself from under Nicolò's limbs without detection is folly. Instead, Yusuf stretches his free arm, the one bearing his Mark, above Nicolò's shoulder and barely touches at the skin, which is running deceptively cold compared to Yusuf's own overheated body. Instantly, he feels eyes on the side of his face.</p><p>Neither speaks. Yusuf removes himself and goes in search of water. He downs an entire bowl from the freshly-collected bucket in the corner of their small kitchen before quietly exiting the house to relieve himself.</p><p>Upon returning, he considers lighting a candle, but decides against it. Nicolò is standing on the other side of the room, drinking his fill as well while Yusuf lies back on their bed to stare at the ceiling once more. He hears him briefly going outside, and only looks away from the shadows above when he feels the mattress dip at the edge with Nicolò's weight. Watching him like a hawk.</p><p>Perched at the end of their bed, face half-shadowed, with his large nose and piercing eyes darkened at this hour of the night, he might as well be a bird of prey in wait. Yusuf's found he doesn't much mind anymore.</p><p>His body reacts regardless to the attention. Flushed and probably ruddy along his cheeks, Nicolò's stare compounding the overpowering self-consciousness, Yusuf feels pinned.</p><p>Suddenly, his limbs untangle, turning into a series of sinuous movements, nearing on palms and knees until he's poised above Yusuf's form, hovering, waiting.</p><p>"Tell me," he whispers, as if to not disturb the fragile silence of the night, for which Yusuf is grateful.</p><p>He deflects because the words, for once, do not come gladly. "It is nothing." From a certain point of view, that is the truth. He would never lie to Nicolò.</p><p>He feels his sigh against his face more than he hears it. His body is still uncomfortably overheated, and Nicolò's closeness isn't helping, but he tries to think of a response that isn't, <i>my Mark woke me</i>, but he ends up saying just that after long moments of silence where he can't come up with any other words which would be even halfway adequate.</p><p>It's too dark and Nicolò is too close for him to decipher his expression. Thankfully, he speaks instead of letting Yusuf guess at his state of mind. "It <i>is</i> nothing." His tone is decisive, if not a little defensive.</p><p>"Nothing at all," Yusuf breathes, and thinks how it's never mattered except for those few days at the start when the both of them used to hope so fucking much that they'd wake up to the other's identical shape on their arm, until they suddenly didn't anymore.</p><p>Nicolò's chest isn't quite pressed to his, their skin barely brushing, but Yusuf can feel the drumming of his heart nonetheless. Without much thought, he raises his arms to clutch at his shoulders to flip them, Nicolò allowing himself to be flipped and landing on his back with grace, immediately sinking into the mattress, seemingly boneless except for kicking his sleep trousers off in a couple of efficient moves. Yusuf knows better than to assume Nicolò's pliancy, but appreciates the leeway, this gift Nicolò gives of his body to be handled in all ways. It must be clear Yusuf is searching for something, and Nicolò is willing to give it to him in spades. Everything. Yusuf's heart clenches inside his chest. He kicks his own trousers off.</p><p>Reaching between them, Yusuf finds his way sightlessly from the thin skin at the junction of hip and thigh to Nicolò's delicate sack and lower to the furl of his hole, still slick and vaguely loose from their earlier lovemaking. They found decades ago that their coupling isn't a hurt, and, thus, will not heal as a wound would. Granted, soreness or discomfort will easily disappear, but a loosened muscle will remain the same. It makes sense, for they are warriors forged for battle, though this is an advantage far removed from any battlefield.</p><p>Now, Yusuf traces the rim and easily sinks a finger inside to the palm, Nicolò sighing his contentment and squeezing at the digit. He steadies himself on the elbow by Nicolò's ear and swivels his hand, finger crooking. Their breaths mingle harshly between them.</p><p>Talkative in bed, his Nicolò is usually not but for Yusuf's name and the numerous ways in which he can groan it out, but now he traces the muscles along Yusuf's chest and rakes his nails through the sparse hair as he says, "I forget it's there." He splays his legs wider around Yusuf's hips. "I never forgot until I met you, but since then it's been... an afterthought."</p><p>He says this as if he's just met a stranger in the street asking for directions. Casually. Yusuf adds another finger, the stretch a little rough with only leftover oil from earlier and traces of Yusuf's come which hasn't leaked out in the night. Finally Nicolò descends into groans and little huffs of breath. Yusuf considers fumbling for the oil, instead sinking his knees deeper into the bed.</p><p>Once he sinks his cock in, the squeeze is still merciless. It's not nearly slick enough. Nicolò moans as if he's being murdered, legs tangling around Yusuf's hips to bring him closer, heels urging him on once he starts thrusting to a sensible rhythm.</p><p>The pressure around him is perfect. Yusuf snaps his hips, and Nicolò opens to take him deeper, arching his back from the bed, pushing against his own shoulders while he clutches at Yusuf's, who would like nothing more than to draw it out but finds that his rhythm is quickly becoming sloppy, his thrusts rougher, flesh slapping flesh and sweat building between them and along the length of his back.</p><p>It's too dark to see much of anything at all, much less Nicolò's Mark. The position is all wrong for that. They're too close. Besides, he's seen it thousands of times or more. It's of no interest. No importance.</p><p>In one smooth movement Yusuf pulls out, disentangles Nicolò's limbs from his body, flips him onto his belly, and sinks back inside to start on a pounding, indelicate rhythm to the sounds of Nicolò's renewed moans turning into pathetic mewls. Yusuf's head is buzzing. Nicolò's hands are gripping the mattress and his hips are canting back to allow Yusuf's cock to skewer him even deeper. He still can't see his Mark like this, the underside of his arm pressed to the bed. He bites at the back of his neck and latches onto the knob of his spine there as his hips pick up an even harsher rhythm.</p><p>Faintly, he makes out Nicolò's words, babbles turning to a litany of <i>yes yes yes</i>, slurred wetly into the bedding. His hips working to rub his cock into the mattress, and Yusuf knows he must be close, his lower body stuttering beneath his. He releases the back of his neck from his mouth only to find a spot next to it in order to bite even harder as his hands squeeze at his wrists and his hips work relentlessly.</p><p>It happens from one breath to the next. His cock feels raw and his tender sack aches, but he spills for the second time that night cradled within Nicolò's body, which quivers and stumbles after a dozen more thrusts against the mattress into a trembling peak of its own.</p><p>Detaching his sweat-soaked chest from Nicolò's equally damp spine, Yusuf spares a long moment to watch his come frothing around his cock as he shifts mere millimetres back and forth within Nicolò's sore-looking hole. Although Nicolò's groan of mild discomfort is accompanied by a rough squeeze around him, Yusuf extricates himself finally, his spill following suit.</p><p>The nights might be mild, but not enough to go outside to wash. Yusuf lights them a candle as Nicolò brings the bucket closer along with clean pieces of linen. They don't speak as they drag the rags along their own bodies, but the silence is pleasant, unhurried.</p><p>Once they are both done and they have replaced the sheet with its spare to try to alleviate the damage, they climb back into bed to resume their positions from earlier when Yusuf first woke himself up. The candle flickers nearby, but Yusuf welcomes the light.</p><p>Nicolò's Mark is on the opposite hand than Yusuf's. If they matched, they could face each other as they pressed their hands and arms together, and their Marks would align. They do not.</p><p>But Nicolò's arm is slung across his chest drawing patterns against skin and vaguely thumbing at a nipple. His leg is a pleasant weight over Yusuf's body. And his breath is warm against the side of his neck. Comforting.</p><p>Yusuf squeezes him closer, and, somehow, without his noticing and with the room lit, he falls asleep until Nicolò wakes him much later for morning prayer.</p><p>The day is spent in silent work around their house and garden, but, at random intervals Yusuf can't quite anticipate, he finds Nicolò's warm palm pressing into his shoulder or the small of his back or the back of his neck with the sort of casual intimacy that would fell a stronger man than him. Then, he can't stop his heart from stuttering in his chest, and he all but forgets there's anything like Marks or that Nicolò could be anything other than the other half of his soul.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am full of feelings, and I'm not even sorry.</p><p>If you enjoy being clobbered by 2K of feels, please consider leaving a kudos or a comment or even both, whatever you're comfortable with. Stay safe, dear hearts! &lt;3</p><p>Tumblr: <a href="https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/">rhubarbdreams</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>